


Blame the Hammer

by uglyNicc



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Sex, Creampie, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex in a Car, Size Difference, Size Kink, Wet & Messy, Xeno, Xenophilia, getting turned on by carnage is kinda their thing I guess, kind of, taking those liberties with krogan physiology again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglyNicc/pseuds/uglyNicc
Summary: Drack doesn't think Ryder can handle a Krogan hammer, and Scott proves him very wrong, leading to cramped sex in the Nomad.(If you're looking for plot here, there is none)
Relationships: Nakmor Drack/Male Ryder | Scott
Kudos: 15





	Blame the Hammer

**Author's Note:**

> Feeling a bit rusty after not writing for over a year, but had a desperate need for some oneshot pwp with Loveable Idiot Ryder and my favorite Krogan Grandpa.

Drack was stuck. 

Stuck on his back, hump to the floor between the seats of the Nomad, with an over eager Ryder crawling over him. 

"Can't it wait ’til we're back on the Tempest?" The Krogan groaned, making a futile effort to sit up as Scott nuzzled and bit at his frowning mouth. "There's no room in this tin can."

On a good day, when Jaal wasn't incessantly pressing him about the redundancy of his internal organs, and Ryder was only hitting every other bump as they sped along, the Nomad was uncomfortably cramped.

Laying on the floor between the seats, an overzealous human atop him, insisting on what he called "a quickie" while they were still in full battle gear - it was downright claustrophobic.

"C'mon, Drack," Ryder grinned, blunt teeth pressing down hard over the thick tendons of the Krogan's throat. "Just lay back and relax, I'll do all the work."

His frustrated sigh devolved into a growl as Ryder's teeth dragged over his skin. It was hardly more than a tickle, given the literal thickness of Krogan hide. Nonetheless, a shiver rippled down his spine down to the tip of his nubby tail.

Scott hummed, resurfacing to swipe his tongue playfully over Drack's wide mouth. 

"How about it, old man?"

It was bad enough he was flat on his back like some prone animal. Being at the mercy of a cocky little pyjak didn't exactly sound like a picnic. Despite his protests though, Drack's plates continued to shift under his armour, the tip of his erection uncomfortably confined beneath the armour.

Digging his fingers into the Pathfinder’s hair, he jerked Ryder’s head back, baring his teeth at the younger man. “Fine, but be quick about it, kid."

"That's what a quickie _is_ , Drack."

_Smartass._

As he watched Ryder straddle his midsection, eager fingers setting to work on his codpiece, Drack wondered if he'd be in this position if it weren't for the Krogan hammer.

His melee choice for centuries, the veteran had carried one into battle for as long as he could remember. After their rocky start in Heleus and the exodus from the Initiative, the weapon wasn't widely available outside the Krogan colony.

While Drack favoured the familiar, Scott had taken to this galaxy's weaponry, giving his omni-blade a rest as he sliced through skirmishes with looted Kett swords and Angaran daggers.

Until the Pathfinder secured blueprints to the hammer.

When Ryder waltzed out an outpost research center - or waltzed as well as he could shouldering the weight of the heavy instrument - Drack had needed more than a minute to catch his breath after a fit of roaring laughter.

"...be...lucky...to...drop it...on your...foot!" The old Krogan had wheezed, bent over double as laughter rocked his massive frame. Scott wasn't to be deterred though. He waited, tightlipped, hammer in hand, while Drack wiped tears of mirth from his sharp green eyes. 

Whether he was waiting to show off his new toy, or just didn't have a wise-ass remark ready to throw back, Scott ignored the teasing and finished suiting up.

“Wanna call Lexi to get the medbay ready?" Drack teased once they were seated in the Nomad. "So she's ready when ya hurt yourself with that thing?" 

Scott gunned the engine and kept his eyes on their path forward, though the corner of his lip twitched. "I've seen you swingin' it around, old man. I learned from the best, think I can't handle it?"

The roar of Drack's laughter filled the cab. "Lookin's one thing, punk. Doin's another."

"You know a gun goes the trick in half the time with less fuss, right?" Vetra chimed in from the back. "Those hammers seem like a lot of extra work."

Shifting in his seat as best he could, Drack turned to their Turian squadmate. "Gives the kill that nice, personal touch," he provided helpfully, though Vetra looked unconvinced. "Though the kid here's probably just gonna use it to shatter his shins."

"Not happening, old man," Scott chortled, eyes still glued on their course as he switched gears.

As they sped over the sweltering Elaaden desert, it wasn't long before they crossed paths with a Kett scouting party near a Remnant site.

"Here we go."

Rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles, Drack hopped out of the Nomad and into the sand, Ryder and Vetra already off in a sprint towards the fight.

It was as reinforcements dropped in and the battle raged on that Drack caught sight of Ryder, blasting past in a streak of crackling biotic light. As his target wobbled, stunned from the charge, Scott grunted with effort as he swung the hammer down for the killing blow.

Finishing off his own opponent with a shotgun blast, Drack looked on, transfixed. 

Despite the obvious exertion needed to wield the hefty, alien weapon, Scott continued on, charges followed by clean, sweeping arcs, hammer falling with bone-crushing accuracy in splashes of bright green blood.

Drack wasn't one for poetry, but there was beauty in the graceful glow of blue light, punctuated with the guttural, brute force of Krogan weaponry. His attention was divided, the thrill of the kill competing with the thrill of following Ryder's destructive path.

When the last Kett corpse fell, Scott was breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, his hammer dripping blood, still resting in the mess of its last victim, his gaze locked with Drack’s.

Wind whipped sand around them, sending grit in his eyes, and Vetra was saying something about receiving a comm from one of her contacts. Drack didn't hear her.

His chest heaved as he took a deep inhale, pupils dilated, scales tingling with the smell of sweat and carnage. He watched as Ryder made a show of hoisting the hammer onto his shoulder, sand and droplets of bright green blood raining down. 

Lips curling, Drack snapped his teeth aggressively as the human passed, inhaling the heady cocktail of pheromones wafting off the Pathfinder. Sauntering toward the Nomad, hammer over his shoulder, Ryder winked as he passed 

_Cocky little shit._

While Vetra ran off to do her dealings, Ryder had jumped Drack in the parked Nomad. 

"Not sure this is gonna work, kid," Drack grunted, even as his fingers fumbled with Scott's armour. By now he knew these clasps were not sized for Krogan digits, and it was an even greater challenge with the younger man wriggling on top of him. Elbow accidentally hitting the kid's discarded helmet, his point was proved as it rolled into the closed door with a clatter. There was hardly space to sneeze, let alone fuck around in here.

"Sure it will," Ryder reassured him. He was quicker with Drack's codpiece, nimble fingers detaching it, reaching over the Krogan's head to set the plating on the front passenger seat.

Drack made a sound that was a cross between a relieved sigh and a snort. "Really can't wait ’til we get back to the ship, huh?"

"Look who's talking, old man." Ryder's voice was almost a purr, fingers deftly freeing the Krogan's sizeable erection from it's confines. His armour-clad fingers ran over the hard length from base to dripping tip. "You look pretty eager to me."

Chuckling, the Krogan tapped on Ryder's crotch plating. "Yeah, yeah, alright. I'm not fiddling with this anymore, take it off."

Snapping open the catches so both his cod piece and rear armour plates could be removed, Scott obliged. It took a fair bit of manoeuvring, plus some colourful language as he bumped his head on the vehicle’s ceiling during his efforts. 

Finally, armoured plates removed and undersuit pulled open, Ryder settled back astride Drack’s hips, his cock hard and rubbing against the Krogan’s considerably larger one.

Circling them both within his hands, Ryder slowly rolled his hips, the friction of their lengths and the cold armour of his fingers eliciting a pleased hum from them both.

Drack bucked up into the contact, artificial joints protesting. They groaned in unison as Scott's grip tightened, palms cupped snuggly around their jostling cocks.

It felt good, but worry nagged at Drack’s brain. Vetra would be back soon, and he did not want to be found in this position.

"C'mon, Ryder," Drack growled, hands gripping the Pathfinder's thighs pointedly, thrusting up into the human's hands.

Ignoring his partner's urging, Scott reached over the Krogan's head again to open the glove compartment.

Biting back the obvious question of why Ryder kept lube in the Nomad, in the passenger dash, of all the public, stupid places he thought he'd need it, Drack winced a bit as a cold dollop of the stuff rolled down his shaft.

"Aah...see, doesn't that feel good, old man?"

Resuming his hold of their lengths, now slicked with lube, together in the tight circle of his hands, Ryder rocked his hips in a gentle rhythm, eyes half lidded as he smiled down at his partner.

It was slow and sensual, heat flowing through Drack's aged body, warming his tough skin and scales. It was unexpected, alien, the different textures of their flesh, the contrast of smooth, armoured fingers. Drack was losing himself in the sensations, in the unhurried pleasure.

The temperature in the Nomad was rising, their hot exhales quickly filling the enclosed space. A light sheen of sweat was already beading on Scott's brow as his pace quickened, hips moving with more urgency, small sounds escaping his lips as their cocks slid against each other.

He hadn't been kidding, Drack thought, about doing all the work. As the human continued rubbing and grinding against him, Drack picked up the discarded lube, coating his wide, stubby fingers.

Roughly pulling Ryder's undersuit further to the side, Drack ran his fingers over the younger man’s ass. Impatiently feeling for the puckered entrance, he sank one of his fingers in without hesitation. Crying out in surprise, Scott’s grip tightening around them, and Drack pressed his digit in deeper, dragging it along the tight inner walls.

The familiar beat of blood, the feel of it thrumming through his body, made it difficult for Drack to be careful, to go slow. For all his earlier scepticism and insistence this wasn’t the time or place, he wanted, _needed_ the Pathfinder. Right here and now.

Second finger joining the first, Scott trembled, rendered imobile by the rough fingering.

With a lurching motion as if he were drunk, Ryder shuffled forward, whining pitifully as Drack's fingers slipped out. Running his hands up the sides of Ryder's body as the younger man repositioned himself, Drack left slick trails over the armour with one hand as his palms settled on the human's hips.

Painfully hard by now, the Krogan let out a low groan as Ryder’s fingers closed around him, carefully easing in the slicked tip.

Sure he was denting the kid's armour, Drack's fingers clenched, joints of his prosthetic arm creaking under the strain. He willed himself to be still, to let Ryder take his time.

With each inch of agonizingly slow progress, the desire to thrust home, hard and fast, into that welcoming, tight heat, grew to a fever pitch within him.

"You...you ok?" Ryder gasped, inexplicably concerned for the Krogan's wellbeing over his own. It was always a slow start when they fucked, and allowances had to be made for Ryder’s smaller stature. The Krogan nodded through clenched teeth.

"Explain to me...again...how this is a 'quickie,'" he grit out.

Unexpectedly, Ryder sank down the last few inches, his exposed skin flush with Drack’s. Shocked into motion, instinct took over and the Krogan’s grip on the Pathfinder’s hips became vicelike. Head swimming, his pelvis lifted off the floor as he thrust up, eliciting a strangled cry from Scott.

“Sh-shit, sorry kid,” Drack panted, concern for his partner at odds with the desire to keep thrusting.

Arms shaking as he held himself up, Ryder let out a breathy laugh. 

"Guess... I'm not quite built... for quickies with Krogan."

Bringing a hand up to rest on the back of Ryder's neck, Drack pulled the younger man's face down toward his own. 

Swiping his tongue over Ryder's jaw, he relished the tang of sweat.

"Take your time, kid."

Ryder nodded. Every muscle and scale on Drack's body was on fire, prickling with need, tension hot and roiling in the pit of his stomach. Krogan weren't built to hold back, and at this point, even his old body ached to _pulverize_ Scott. 

But he held back. He'd lent his gun and his brute strength to the Pathfinder, to protect him, to help make Heleus at home. The trust Scott showed him, an ancient Krogan chewed up and spat out by a galaxy 600 years away, both in and out of battle… it made Drack feel something he wasn't ready to put a name to.

Drack was pulled out of his reprieve as, with one last, steadying breath, Scott sat back, palms flat against the Krogan’s battered chest plate and began to move.

Regaining his hold on Ryder's hips, Drack kept to the younger man's pace, watching the rhythmic, almost hypnotic motion as Scott rode him. 

Scott's jaw was slack, his eyes closed, quiet gasps and moans escaping his lips as his hands clenched against the Krogan's battle-scarred armour. He threw his head back, Drack's name on his lips as he lifted his hips, body shaking as he bore down hard.

"Right there" Drack murmured, voice thick as he held Ryder in place, his feet scuffing up the Nomad's interior as they scrambled for purchase, raising his pelvis up off the floor into another powerful thrust.

The Pathfinder cried out, shaking as Drack, back arched with hips up, held him there. The Krogan's vision blurred for a moment, eyes almost rolling back into his skull as Scott writhed and constricted around him.

Words tumbled past Scott's lips, incoherent nonsense, his fingers scratching and clawing Drack's shoulders. "Oh God oh God...too mu-much...s-so...so deep -"

The Nomad swayed slightly as Drack let his hips fall back to the floor, hardly noticing the slight pinch as the nub of his tail landed at an odd angle beneath him. 

Once more free to move, Ryder lifted his hips again, pulling halfway off Drack's cock before slamming back down. He repeated the motion, moaning obscenely each time he took Drack to the hilt.

The slap of skin and gear filled the cab, Ryder's pace quickening, his armour clattering as he bounced faster and faster on Drack's dick. It was clumsy and desperate, Ryder's gaze clouded as he looked down at his partner, beads of sweat rolling down his temple. 

It was uncomfortably hot now, the fog of sweat and sex stifling in the close quarters, their lungs sucking in each other's hot exhales.

This was the rhythm the old Krogan needed, that the blood hammering through his veins demanded, the almost violent meeting of their bodies as Scott rode him, bringing them closer and closer to the edge.

He was so close, his quad ached, tension coiling through his entire body, ready to snap. His fingers sought out Scott's dick, where it bobbed and bumped against Drack’s stomach, and took it in hand. Holding Ryder's gaze, he pumped the younger man with the same fervour as Scott’s frantic motion.

With a choked yell, Scott ground his hips down, body going rigid as he came, ropes of come falling over Drack's torso. 

"Fuck!" Drack grit out, teeth clenched, hips stuttering upward as Ryder milked his release, every tired muscle in his body enveloped in pulsing heat. The pounding of his last heart ringing in his ears, deafening, as he came. 

Collapsed on top of him, Ryder rose and fell with each of the Krogan's ragged breaths. Even with the armour, the human weighed next to nothing, as far as Drack was concerned. They lay there for a while, catching their breath in the afterglow, until Drack felt wet rivulets of come seeping out of his partner and under his armour.

Shifting uncomfortably, Drack gently pulled at Scott’s shoulders. "Time to clean up, kid.”

Scott grumbled something, half-asleep, before moving to untangle their bodies. His legs wobbled as he slowly got to his feet, stooping in under the low roof.

"Rest of the crew only has to take one whiff of this place to know what we were doin,'" Drack muttered. His softening cock was starting to retreat back behind his natural plating, and he made to put his codpiece back on before remembering his hand was sticky as well.

Before he could ask, Scott passed him a cloth, stained with gun oil and grease. “All I could find," Scott apologized with a weak smile.

Wiping himself down as best he could, Drack shot the human a dark look as he passed the rag back. "Ya had foresight enough to pack lube away in the glove box, but not enough to pack anything to cleanup with after?"

Scott laughed, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice. "Yeah, I don't have the greatest track record for planning things out..."

The cab still smelt rank, like the back room of an Omega bar. Once again fully dressed, and after a bit of struggling, the veteran managed to right himself. Dropping onto the back seat with a sigh, he watched as Scott, his own armour back where it should be, scrubbed away the evidence of their tryst. 

"Best air this baby out a bit, before Vetra gets back," Scott said offhandedly, shoving the filthy rag into a trash compartment. He reached past Drack to pop the door hatch, brushing his lips against the Krogan’s leathery cheek as he did so.

"After you."

"Don't get cute, brat."

Harsh sunlight flooded in, almost blinding after the low light inside the Nomad. It felt only marginally hotter outside.

Landing heavily on his feet with a grunt, Drack stepped out of the vehicle, stretching his arms and legs in a symphony of creaks. Ryder clamoured out behind him, striding through the sand with his arm up to shield against the sun's glare.

"Vetra should be back-"

"10 minutes ago."

Drack froze, mid stretch, as he caught sight of the Turian, leaning against the side of the Nomad, one foot resting atop a large crate. She was sipping from a soda can, one of those dextro drinks the Collective brewed and sold for an arm and leg, her eyes narrowed at the two of them.

"Hey, Vetra!" Ryder's voice was a full octave too high as he wheeled around, acting exactly like someone who'd been caught red handed doing something where they shouldn't. "How long've you been-"

"Long enough that you both owe me some muscle running this stuff back to the Nexus," she answered cooly. Her gaze was steely, but her mandibles twitched as she finished her drink.

"Sure, sure, let me give you a hand there!" Ryder eagerly moved to comply. "I'll, uh, try and get some of those fancy dextro rations outta Tann too, for you and Sid. Y'know, if you want them."

"That's so thoughtful, thanks Pathfinder," Vetra answered sweetly, sub-vocals thrumming with amusement. As Ryder heaved the crate into the vehicle, Vetra gave Drack a sidelong glance, but said nothing. 

"Spit it out, Vetra."

Aside from a few bars of cheerful humming, there was no response from the Turian. Meanwhile, Ryder finished securing the crate, and was making his way behind the wheel. 

"Was just wondering,” Vetra murmured, stepping lightly into the cab. “If the Krogan colony has any building materials they don’t need, just lying around.”

Releasing an irritated huff of air, Drack stepped back into the Nomad. Shutting the door behind him, the Krogan settled in as the engine warmed up. 

“Tell me what you need, and if you lay off the teasing, I’ll help ya out.” 


End file.
